The scene is set, a dark night, cold wind blowing, campfire flickering,
stars twinkling in the dark sky.
Three hang-glider pilots sitting by the campfire, one from Australia, one from South Ifrika and one from New Zulland.
Each embroiled in the bravado for which they are famous, the night of tales begins...

Kiven the Kiwi says:

"I must be the meanest, toughest, heng glider there es. Why, jist the other day I linded in a field and scared a crocodeale, who came out of the swamp and ate sux min who were standen close by.  I grebbed the crocodeale and wristled him to du ground and killed em with my beer hends".

Alan from South Africa who typically can't stand to be bettered said: "Well you guys, I lended orfter a 200 mile flight in my heng glider on a tiny trail, and a Namibian snike slid out from under a rock and made a move  on me. I grebbed de borsted with me bare hinds and beet it's head off then sucked the poison from it's body down in one gulp. End I'm still here today".

Terry, the Aussie remained silent, slowly poking the fire with his penis.